The air was buzzing, whether from excitement or something else entirely, but it didn't matter right?
All that mattered was that It was alive. Lanterns flickered overhead, casting golden halos across the bustling street. Towering stone and glass structures loomed on either side, shielding the festival-goers from the winter's bite. Rows upon rows of vibrant stalls stretched endlessly, offering sizzling food, shimmering trinkets, games, performances—everything one could dream of. And beyond the hills, where the road curved gently toward the horizon, the skies waited for the evening's crown jewel: the fireworks display.
Emilia paused at the entrance, her breath catching. Her eyes sparkled beneath the soft glow of lanterns. "This... all of this was planned by that little girl?"
Pasta was already vibrating with energy beside her, his nose twitching as waves of roasted spices, fried dough, and sweet glazes drifted past.
"Yeah yeah little girl got it," he murmured, taking an eager step forward, only to be yanked back.
"We stick together," Mr. Swordsman said flatly. "Last thing I need is another Pyrovile incident."
Pasta eyed him. "Wait, what happened at Pyrovile?"
Whack!
Emilia flicked his forehead. "You ditched us at Cumbleton's to chase some fried food, destroyed the meaty shack and landed yourself in jail. Ring any bells?"
Pasta rubbed his forehead, grinning sheepishly. "No bells rang sis. Still, a guy's gotta eat. But hey, I got good news!"
He puffed out his chest. "I've learned a new trick. Perfect for situations like this."
Mr. Swordsman narrowed his eyes. "What kind of trick?"
A slow, smug grin curled across Pasta's face. "Watch this."
In a heartbeat, his gaze sharpened. His lifeforce shimmered just for an instant and with a flick of energy, he released a compact burst of force. It was small, but it was sharp, like a pressure pulse detonating around him. Several festival-goers stumbled, blinking in confusion. Mr. Swordsman reeled back a step, caught off guard just long enough for the grip to loosen.
That was all Pasta needed.
He vanished into the crowd with a gleeful cackle. "Catch me if you can~!"
"Wait, you let go?" Emilia asked, spinning toward Mr. Swordsman in disbelief.
But he didn't answer. His gaze lingered on the spot where Pasta had disappeared.
That burst...
It was controlled. Clean. That's not something a novice pulls off on instinct... He's been training.
He turned, walking into the sea of music and light. "Let's just find him before he breaks another food stall and gets arrested."
Emilia sighed, pulling her scarf tighter. "Unbelievable."
#
Mr. Swordsman and Emilia wandered through the heart of the festival, their path lit by the soft glow of floating lanterns. Music danced through the air, mingling with the scent of sizzling meats and candied fruits. Emilia clutched a puff of colourful, cloud-like sweetness, eagerly taking a bite and humming in delight.
She glanced at him between bites. "Hey, Mr. Swordsman, did you know most sweets and delicacies actually come from the Second Realm?"
He gave a small nod.
"Yeah, I mean, that realm isn't just about fancy inventions and art galleries, the people there are also obsessed with desserts and also have a variety of meals from all over the world. You can see why Pasta's practically addicted to the foreign meals. "
He nodded again.
"Oh! And speaking of arts, I heard there's a theatre up on the capital's upper level. After the fishing trip tomorrow, we have to go see it, right?"
Another nod.
Emilia squinted at him. "You're no fun, you know that?"
Mr. Swordsman looked down. This is harder than I thought... How does Lily keep a conversation going so effortlessly...?
Ahead, Emilia slowed down, eyes sweeping across the sea of colourful stalls. "Alright, fine. I'll help you become a better conversationalist," she said, hands on her hips.
He raised an eyebrow. "Don't you avoid talking to strangers? Especially in public? You act like a scared kitten every time"
She cracked her neck, steam rising with her breath. How did he know that...? Sharp, Mr. Swordsman. Very sharp.
She shook her head and with a determined grin, she turned to him. "That was the old me. And that's exactly why I'm the perfect person to teach you! Now behold, Student Swordsman, your master begins the demonstration!"
Emilia showed no signs of effort as she greeted most of the people at the festival. From the adventurers to the normal folks. Mr Swordsman, kept his gaze on her, a smile forming.
But something else caught Emilia's eye. A little boy with a wooden sword, strapped to his waist and the Fourth's emblem, pinned on his chest.
She skipped ahead and approached the family browsing a toy stall.
"Hello, everyone!" she chimed, voice bright. "Enjoying the festivities?"
The father beamed. "Oh, absolutely. This is probably the grandest celebration the Heart Family has hosted in years."
"Mum, look!" the little boy tugged on his mother's cloak excitedly. "It's her! I saw her in the pamphlets! She was in the Pyrovile incident! She's a real adventurer!"
Emilia knelt, gently ruffling the boy's hair. "Well, aren't you a clever little detective?"
The mother smiled warmly. "Our son adores adventurers. He wants to be one himself one day. I think meeting you just made his whole year."
Emilia blinked, her heart skipping a beat.
The boy suddenly pointed again. "Look! It's Mr. Swordsman too!"
He emerged from the crowd, tilting his hat politely. The father stepped forward and shook his hand firmly.
"Well, I'll be... two legends at once! The infamous scholar adventurer and the indomitable swordsman. Now if only the skilled foodie were here too."
Mr Swordsman let out a small smile. "He's probably passed out in a food stall somewhere."
The group burst into laughter as the little boy tugged on Emilia's coat.
"You've got to teach me how to be an adventurer, an S rank like the Undertakers as well"
Emilia smiled as she ruffled his hair. "What's wrong with being just like me?"
Her gaze softened on the boy. "Still, keep chasing your dreams, alright? Nothing's impossible if you put in the effort and remember, that knowledge is power in the world of adventuring. Never lose sight of your dream even if going gets rough, and make sure you don't forget one very important thing."
He stared at her. "What important thing?"
She gave him a playful punch on his arm. "Always have fun"
The boy nodded, returning the punch. "I will"
Emilia reached into her satchel and pulled out a weathered, leather-bound book, the first edition of the Adventurers Guild Manual.
"This is yours," she said, offering it gently. "And between us... I scribbled a few tips and notes of my own in there. Consider it a special treat."
The boy's eyes lit up like the coming fireworks as he hugged the book tightly. "Thank you, Lady Emilia!"
The family waved as they returned to the crowd, leaving Emilia and Mr Swordsman in the soft afterglow of the moment.
He stepped beside her. "You loved that book. Why give it away?"
She smirked, voice low. "I've got tons of copies. But that one was my first... and I think he needed it more than I did."
Mr. Swordsman gave her shoulder a pat. "I saw some novel stalls earlier. Want to check them out? My treat."
Her eyes sparkled. "Yes! I can see my teaching methods are working already!"
They strolled deeper into the heart of the festival, swept along by music and cheer, until someone dashed between them, weaving through the crowd with a purpose of his own. Mr. Swordsman narrowed his eyes slightly but chose not to act just yet.
Let everyone have their fun.
#
"Fresh ice fish! Straight from the northern rivers!"
"Hot soup! Steaming hot soup, warm enough to melt your bones!"
"Snacks from every corner of the realm! Come and get it!"
The festival streets boomed with voices. The air smelled of sizzling spice, grilled meats, sugar glazed fruits and temptation.
Pasta stood dead centre in the delicious chaos, frozen not by the cold, but by indecision. He had come for food, but everything around him beckoned. Games with sparkling prizes, music that pulled at his soul, and women in elegantly designed coats that shimmered in the lantern light, beautiful enough to bring any man to his knees.
"This... this is paradise," he whispered, raising his coin pouch to the heavens. "At last, the moment I've trained for!"
And with that, he charged into the fray.
Stall after stall, dish after dish, nothing escaped his appetite. He stuffed pastries, dumplings, and skewers into his mouth with unholy speed. Vendors quickly caught on and swarmed like bees to honey, waving menus and shouting over one another for his attention.
"I said calm down! I've got coins for all of you!" Pasta yelled, his cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk's as he chewed.
The other festival goers gave him wide-eyed stares, some disgusted, others amazed but he couldn't care less. Tonight was about victory, flavour and a ton of meat. But that counted as flavour as well so…
Eventually, he collapsed at a nearby food stall, plates stacked high around him like a fortress of indulgence.
That's when he heard it-faint, teasing beneath the crunch of his fried shrimp.
"Still shovelling food into that bottomless pit of yours, huh? You're quite the eater... yet a terrible fighter," a familiar voice teased, smooth and smug.
Pasta turned, half a dumpling still in his mouth.
The girl wore a dark purple coat, drawn tightly around her form. Her long pink hair swayed in the breeze, and those unmistakable violet eyes sparkled beneath the stall lights.
"Huh? Who the hell—" he paused, blinking. "Wait… TORI?!"
"In the flesh," she said, slurping down noodles. "Didn't expect to run into you in the Fourth Realm. Still as dramatic as ever, lover boy."
Pasta choked slightly. His face turned beet red. "Y-You still remember that!?"
"Of course I do," she replied with a devilish grin. "That was hilarious and also... terrifying. Who could forget?"
Groaning, Pasta slammed his head on the table. "I've spent months trying to erase that day from existence. And here you are, dragging it back from the grave…"
Tori giggled and gently tousled his hair. "Relax. If it makes you feel any better… I didn't even recognise your life force at first. You've been training, haven't you? It shows."
He peeked up, flustered. "Thanks…"
Then, lifting his head, he squinted. "Wait, what are you even doing here in the Fourth? And how did I not recognise you? You're usually wearing those… uh, flashy outfits. Thank goodness it's winter over here, those clothes looked horrible on you."
Her grin twitched. "Pink hair's not exactly rare around here, genius. And excuse me, did you just say my outfits don't suit me?"
"…Ye—"
A steaming bowl of soup flew past his face, narrowly missing. Pasta snatched it midair. "Thanks for the meal."
Tori clicked her tongue. "Show-off. I compliment your training and you respond with a soup-dodge?"
He downed the broth with a satisfied sigh. "What can I say? I'm full of surprises. But hey, what now? You wanna spar and lose in front of all these people?"
Tori leaned in, her eyes narrowing, playful and dangerous all at once. "Please. You wouldn't last five seconds."
She slid closer, elbows on the table, smirking. "But how about something a little different? Something you're good at."
Pasta raised a brow. "I'm listening…"
She met his gaze. "Eating contest. You, me, winner takes all."
"And what exactly do you mean by all?"
Tori leaned in even closer, her face inches from his.
"All, Pasta," she whispered. "All."
Pasta swallowed, this time not food.
#
A long banquet table stood at the centre of the festival square. Five towering plates of food sat on either end, their aroma alone enough to draw a hungry crowd.
"Welcome, everyone!" boomed a lively voice. A plump man with rosy cheeks and a chef's hat three times too large stood proudly on the table. "I'm Farrie! Your charming chef and master of ceremonies for this evening's grand feast-fueled duel!"
The crowd erupted with laughter and applause.
"On the right side," Farrie said, gesturing with a twirl of his spoon, "we have the dazzling S-class adventurer, the violet storm herself, Tori!"
Tori waved lazily with one hand while tying a black napkin around her neck with the other.
"And on the left…" Farrie paused, eyes glinting. "We have a low-ranking adventurer whose name makes everyone hungry, Pasta!"
Pasta leapt from his seat, one fist raised high. "Let's gooooo!"
A thick silence followed, save for the wind.
"…Tough crowd," he muttered, sitting down again.
"The rules are simple," Farrie said. "Five dishes each! The loser foots the bill and forfeits all their worldly belongings! Yes, even your dignity! Are our contestants ready?!"
The crowd roared with approval. A few whispered, "Why are we watching this again?"
"A little excitement to get the festival going isn't a bad idea right?" a man said, eyes forward. "So let's freaking goo!!!"
The gong sounded.
Pasta launched forward. Forks and spoons blurred in his hands as he devoured his first plate in mere seconds. By the time he started his second, Tori was still nibbling, her face scrunched up.
"Ugh… Why spicy food?" she said, poking the dish. "If I can finish this, the rest will be a cake walk"
Pasta surged ahead. Plate three, and still going strong.
Tori, finally done with her first, put on her headphones and clicked something on her wrist. A baton extended in her hand, glowing with runes. She grinned. "Hey, Pasta."
"Huh?" he grunted mid-chew, glancing over.
CLANG!
A scythe shot toward his face. Pasta dropped his spoon, grabbed his sword, and deflected the blade mid-bite, not a crumb falling.
Farrie gripped the mic. "Whoa-ho! Things just got spicy in more ways than one! And with no rules set. EVERYTHING GOES!"
The cheers exploded.
Tori stared at him with a soft laugh. "You're not the only one who's been training, Pasta. I've got some moves of my own."
Her scythe circled her like a guardian, the tiny blades on her headphones spinning with it, an elegant dance of steel and sound.
Pasta's eyes narrowed. Her scythe moved with a mind of its own in the air, spinning and slicing.
He gritted his teeth, parrying each strike with one hand while still eating with the other. The crowd was losing their minds.
Tori's gaze sharpened as she devoured her second dish, but stole a glance and blinked in disbelief.
"You're fighting my weapon… while eating?"
Pasta winked at her."No rule against multitasking, right?"
"…You're insane," she whispered.
He grinned wider. "I know."
Tori narrowed her eyes. "How far will you go for food?"
"Far enough to win. Watch me."
The dishes dwindled. Pasta had only one plate left. Tori was right behind him, sweat glistening on her brow. The scythe spun faster now, desperate to throw him off.
"Win this competition," he murmured to himself, "no matter what… and then ask her"
They were neck and neck. Gasps and cheers rained from the crowd.
Until Pasta reached the final meal- a single meatball.
But then, he remembered a certain word existed- Stomach cramp.
Crack.
His stomach twisted. His eyes went blank. His grip loosened. His sword clattered to the floor as Tori's scythe gave him a gentle bonk on the head. He fell over with a dramatic gasp, the meatball rolling from his mouth.
"T-The pain... note to self... never fight and feast," he said, face-down on the cobblestone.
Tori wiped her lips with her napkin and stood victoriously.
Farrie raised her hand. "AND THE WINNER IS... TORI!"
The crowd erupted with cheers. Tori chuckled, glancing down at Pasta, who lay in defeat, groaning softly.
She leaned down and poked Pasta's cheek. "Nice try, lover boy. But maybe next time, eat first, then fight."
He gave her a weak thumbs-up. "Next time... I won't go easy on you"
Tori chuckled weakly, then collapsed beside Pasta with a groan.
After a brief moment of lying in their shared defeat, the two slowly rose, swaying unsteadily. They laughed, wincing with every breath, but still managing to help each other stand upright, hands on shoulders, heads bumping together in shared exhaustion.
"Good game, Pasta," Tori said, her voice low, a soft smile tugging at her lips.
He looked at her, eyes shimmering beneath the cascade of applause, falling snow, and streaks of colour painting the sky above them. A smile of his own formed, genuine and warm despite the pain in his gut.
"You damn cheater…" he said with a chuckle, "Still, it's your win. Guess you do crazy things for food too, huh?"
She grinned. "What can I say? A girl's gotta eat, right?"
Elsewhere, weaving through the lively festival crowd, Emilia strolled with her arms full stacks of freshly baked sweets teetering in one hand and novels with glimmering covers cradled in the other. Mr. Swordsman walked beside her, his face calm but pale, carrying part of her ridiculous haul with silent resignation.
Emilia blinked, pausing mid-step. Her eyes locked onto something ahead. "Wait a second… is that—? That's pink hair! I know that pink hair!"
She dumped everything into Mr. Swordsman's arms with no warning. "Hold these!" she said, bolting forward like a comet blazing through the stars.
Tori sensed it before it happened. She glanced up, face pale with dread. "No… no, no, no…"
Her eyes widened as she saw the familiar girl charging her way.
"Emilia? Emilia, wait! Don't come closer! Please!"
But her warnings were lost to the wind. Emilia, radiant and full of energy, leapt toward her with arms wide, eyes closed and smile beaming.
"Tori!!"
And then it happened.
BLURGHHHHHHHH!
The world paused.
The crowd turned away in horror, grimacing in disgust, some clutching their mouths.
Even Pasta stumbled back, shielding himself.
Tori had lost every last bite of her glorious victory, all over Emilia.
Mr. Swordsman approached slowly, his expression unchanged… but a faint smirk tugged at the corners of his lips. He closed his eyes for a moment, taking in the chaos before him. Despite it all, there was something comforting about seeing the girls reunited.
A ripple echoed within him.
Barely there, but felt all the same. A flicker of energy, thin as a thread, brushed against his senses. Distant, yet alive.
His smile faded.
Eyes narrowed, Mr. Swordsman turned toward the distant hills, the winds shifting around him.
Far beyond the festival's light and colour… across snow-covered plains and silent fields… a group waited.
For Tranquility.